Where Has the Snow Gone?
by KissingThorns
Summary: The pain of balling fists and fingernails digging into slick flesh pulled the man back to reality. He was dying, and yet here he was, standing bare and dwelling on a life he could never hope to grasp again. He had lost everything. -Oneshot-


Where Has the Snow Gone?

* * *

Part of him had always wondered what it would be like to be eaten. His chest pounded at the thought of someone burying their teeth in his soft flesh, pulling huge, bloody mouthfuls away before swallowing him whole.

He squeezed his legs together, lifting them out of the warm water. He wished to be devoured. He was wed to the idea in lust. His body becoming nothing more than a piece of meat. He was squirming, his soft golden hair falling over his eyes as he threw his head back with a strangled cry. His body glistened with water, sloshing all over him as he lay in the bath. For a moment, he was still, just listening to his own labored breathing and throbbing heart. His vision blurred, everything going soft around the edges, almost making one feel as if they were parting from a rather pleasant dream.

The world outside was being engulfed in white, yet, within moments, so would he.

It was funny, thinking that the outer world was largely more terrifying, yet, within his burning body, he was about as pure as the snake.

So, where had it all fled?

Soft giggles filled the room.

This sickness really was going to his head, wasn't it?

"What must one do to be...eaten?"

He spoke aloud , an air of contemplation in his voice. His fingers experimentally pulling at his neck until it became red and sore. A shiver ran through him at the feeling, a soft moan escaping his lips. He twitched a bit, his face curling into a look of delight. He hadn't felt anything this pleasurable for nearly a year. Not a single touch, no caressing, not even so much as a glance.

Maybe he was frustrated, but, to tell the truth, the way it had been happening was almost punishing in nature. It was twisted, the man had told him, yet they had made no attempts to cease their iniquitous encounters. A dark look came over his face now, the good mood visibly fading now. His eyes had darkened. A heaviness filled the air, smothering all previous feelings of warmth or excitement.

Sinful.

Ungodly.

Demented.

Adulterous.

_Incestuous_.

All of those words had been branded upon them, shoved in their faces to become scars of the past that would never cease their burning. Yet, he smiled sadly, they had always been able to overcome it. Those words had torn into _them_. The two of them.

Now, even the only one who had stood by him was calling him by those devilish names.

He stood, disrupting the water as he did. Stark naked, his entire being focused on his remarkably instability.

"Just what am I?"

"Just what...exactly?"

The sound of feet padding along the marble floor fell upon deaf ears.

"Maddened, weren't we? Lustful, sick creatures."

The pain of balling fists and fingernails digging into slick flesh pulled the man back to reality. He was dying, and yet here he was, standing bare and dwelling on a life he could never hope to grasp again. He had lost everything. Yet, somehow, he still managed to live like everything was normal. So many times he would awaken after one of their encounters and find himself lying naked and discarded by the very person he had been trying to rid himself of these terrible feelings for. He would encounter the one he had been avoiding for so long, and before he knew it, he would wake with nothing but a lonely motel room, soiled sheets, and an heart aching for company. No memory, no possibility of reprisal, just his fouled body and lost soul.

Featherlight touches trailed down his arms as he felt breath on his neck.

He felt dirty, used. He was never good enough, always thrown away and forgotten until it was convenient. Was he nothing more than a toy? Was he just garbage? Was this why he craved to be devoured until nothing was left of his existence? The thought that he and he alone would sustain the one he offered up his poisoned flesh to? Was he longing to poison the one who did the deed? Or...was it because he would, for a fraction of a second, be completely and utterly one with that very person?

"You are rather pensive today, da?"

A silence filled the room as large, corrupt hands curled around his neck, slithering up to his face to twist him towards those equally dirty lips. They were alike, he and Ivan. They were not seeking love. They were guided by only mutual gain. He craved the pain that Ivan would more than willingly supply, and he allowed the other nation to do anything he wished.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

His voice came out dry and cracked. He would lose his ability to speak soon.

Poisonous eyes were becoming boring. He wished for _his_ eyes, those crystal eyes of lazuline that would remain fixed on him throughout their passionate nights. Nothing but blue could fix him now, and blue had been taken by emerald. Violet could never meet azure again.

"I don't like it when you think."

He couldn't help but snort. Sure, sure. He'd rather be tearing him to pieces.

"I know."

His replies were always PC. He never once said anything out of line. He was always compliant. Perhaps that was what made him crave these encounters with this man, this nation that could utterly destroy him in one swift move and have no qualms in doing so.

The silence in the room was deafening.

"Can you...leave, Ivan?"

He just stood there, naked and shivering, his every defense dripping onto the floor along with the water. The country made a guttural noise in the back of his throat, signaling that he did not approve the smaller man's dismissing him.

"I have been here all day already, Matvey, and I haven't gotten even the slightest bit of reciprocation."

His words were poison, sliding down the naked back of the man before the Russian. Eventually, they would corrupt anyone who heard them, slide in their ears and slithering into the brain before slowly crushing and infecting the mind with madness. It was sickening, yes, but it was also entertaining.

Only breathing filled the room. Oh, how he wished to ring his neck. No, not the man he would soon be entangled with, but the one he would bore the name he would be screaming.

"_Alfred!" _

"_Alfred!"_

The man above him wouldn't mind. He would bring him to the brink of death, walk with him along the line of ecstasy and agony. Then, within minutes, he too would stand and leave him with a cleverly disguised look over his shoulder. A look of disgust. One of disapproval.

He figured he lived for that look. It wasn't Ivan looking at him like that for a split second. It was Alfred. Always Alfred within that man's eyes.

A sharp cry, and blood begins to run, bringing him back from his thoughts. Lips clamp down around the wound, a tongue invades the rip in pale flesh, a scream freeing itself from a previously clogged throat. Hands invade an open mouth, knees begin to weaken and one of the pair drops to the floor. Pain reverberates around his head. Dizziness, pain, everything he was feeling was nothing but a warm up. He loved it, relished it. Craved it.

Although, as his hair was grabbed and he was wrenched to his feet, he wondered, just why exactly didn't he let this man eat him? Why not let him end everything?

A voice inside him scoffed.

That was an easy one. Obviously, it wasn't Ivan that was meant to eat him. It wasn't Gilbert, It wasn't Francis.

It was Alfred.

It would _always_ be Alfred.


End file.
